


on the other side (of this closet door)

by tobalance



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: M/M, Non-Famous Family as Characters, Not Beta Read, References to Illness, References to hate crimes, Religious Conflict
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-07-02 06:44:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15791112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tobalance/pseuds/tobalance
Summary: He believes G-d can hear him. He believes G-d knows his heart.





	on the other side (of this closet door)

**Author's Note:**

> Hastily written religious angst as an attempt to deal with my own angst. No disrespect intended. Title from “You’re the Last Thing On My Mind” by Aron Wright

He prays because he believes G-d hears him when he prays. He hasn’t prayed like this in a long time, though. He’s come, over time, to believe that G-d knows his heart and that praying like this, like he used to isn’t the only way G-d can know him. He believes G-d knows his heart regardless. 

Still, in this moment, he prays the same way he prayed as a child. Maybe it’s a comfort. Maybe he just wants to be one hundred percent sure that this message gets heard, loud and clear. 

So he starts as he always has bowing his head and closing his eyes in respect. 

He presses the palms of his hands together in a steeple like his mother had shown him and Michael to do as children, kneeling at the side of the bed and elbowing each other until she snapped at them to cut it out. He feels how corse his hands are from the game even as he remembers his mother’s smooth hands laying overtop of his, pressing his hands together. 

_“Like this, Jimmy. Like the steeple of the church.”_

He starts with, “Dear Heavenly Father.” 

_“That’s where G-d is. Up there in heaven with grandma McCann.”_

And Fifle their collie, Michael’s hamster, the kid down the block who was hit by a car, Matthew Shepard…

He thanks G-d for everything he’s been given because, _“G-d is not Santa Clause!”_ His father’s tone had been sharp, his fist loud on the kitchen table as Michael had lead the prayer before dinner. He can’t remember now what Michael had ask for but he remembers his father’s words. 

_“God is better. He gives you life and eternity, mercy and love. He loves you so much he sent his only son to die for you. You should be grateful.”_ And most days he is. He is grateful. 

Then, afterwards, you can politely ask for what you want. 

That’s how it works. That’s the script. From the time he was old enough to read the bible to this moment now, alone in the hospital chapel at nearly two am. This is how he was taught to pray. 

Only he’s not a child anymore and while he still believes, with every fiber of his being, he hasn’t followed the script set out for him in years. Not since college. Not since before baseball. Before José . 

He doesn’t tell G-d what he wants. He opens his eyes and looks around the darkened chapel then up at the dark stain glass window behind the pulpit. He makes his voice as steady as he can, as firm as he’s able. He tells G-d:

“Get him through this, or I’m done.” 

He believes G-d can hear him. He believes G-d knows his heart. 

“Amen,” he finishes. “Let it be.”


End file.
